I am writing this email from a seedy internet point in Catania. It is so hot here. We are here to go to the military base and buy some American goods. It was an eventful week in Ragusa., we explored some old limestone mining caves from the 1800s. Things are different here. The only pop they have is coke, sprite, and fanta. The streets are cramped, windy, and steep. Old men are seen wandering around or arguing in Sicilian with each other on the few benches with some shade. The funniest thing is the hand gestures people use for communication. It turns out the stereotypical Italian talking with their hands thing is true. We are for sure having a baptism for S.A., an eighteen year old man from Nigeria. We lost the other baptismal date due to a misunderstanding at church with some members and are working with that investigator to resolve the problem. English course is going very well and we have had the opportunity to hand out a few Book of Mormons. Hopefully, we can get a few lessons scheduled with those contacts. We taught an old Italian man, named G, for the second time about the plan of salvation. He yelled a lot during the lesson, but that's pretty normal for Italians. He would argue about something and then agree with it after a few minutes of explaining. , I went to the police station to get my fingerprints. I had to wait in line for almost 2 hours before I was seen and I still have to go back to finish up the fingerprints morning. Everyone was shoving and pushing to the front though the man letting people through would call names of those who had appointments anyway. My companion and I towered over everyone there also. We ate at the VV's house yesterday. He kept piling pasta on my plate with a wicked grin on his face. Later, we met up with our friend, FB, at Bella Napoli, to learn how to make pizza. That guy cracks me up. Every time he gives a handshake (clasping hands like one would arm wrestle), he uses as much muscle as possible.